Rain
by ChryssieVissie
Summary: After the Steam Revolution, many factories were built in major cities, polluting the air and turning the rain lethal. In a corrupt world where the difference between rich and poor is only increasing, Francis Bonnefoy is a broke artist that lives on the streets of Paris as a beggar. However, his life is turned upside down after a fateful meeting. Steampunk AU, rated T just in case
1. Prologue: Shelter

There's nothing quite like walking in the rain. Some people detest it, because it ruins your appearance. However, other people adore the cooling feeling of the precipitation hitting their bare skin. Listening to the sound of the rain hitting the Earth as you stand there, surrendering your body to the elements, gives a peaceful feeling. Sadly, it was a feeling that hardly anybody could enjoy any more. Whenever it started raining, people would go into hiding, or pull out their umbrellas. It had been long since the rain had actually been healthy. The sky was filled with nothing but dangerous gases from all the factories. The rain contained chemicals that irritated and bit your skin and organs mercilessly, often killing people. As a poor artist that lived on the streets, Francis Bonnefoy could attest to this. His skin was covered with wounds from the lethal rain. The Frenchman let out a shaky sigh as he clutched onto the leather bag with his art supplies and paintings. The clouds above Paris were anything but welcoming. He knew the city, where he had been born and raised, like the back of his hand, and he vaguely remembered the days when the clouds above the city looked beautiful, and put a smile on his face. All his memories of The City of Love before the Steam Revolution were slowly slipping away. Many things had changed, he hardly remembered how his old house used to look like. Not that it mattered any more – he didn't want to go back to the place where his mother had died.

"...it _is_ a big deal, the duchess adores food – we all know that!" a voice with a thick British accent said, accompanied by the sound of footsteps, "Yes, I _need_ all those pastries. What? What do you mean she's on a bloody _diet_? You have got to be pulling my leg... Then what are we supposed to do?!"

Francis looked up, and saw the origin of the sound. A man wearing clothes fitted for nobility was walking down the street with a quick pace. He spoke faster than he walked, clearly stressed out. His short dirty blonde hair stuck out from under his top hat as he continued ranting to the person on the other side of the line. He was holding one of those fancy copper cell phones to his ear – something Francis would probably never be able to afford.

"Art? She loves art? Well – okay – but how are we going to find a suitable artist on such a short notice?" the Englishman said, clearly even more stressed out now. However, Francis' eyes had widened. Could this be his chance? Without thinking, the artist scrambled up, grabbed his leather bag, and ran to the foreigner through the crowd, "_M-monsieur_," he said with a slightly nervous voice, "I couldn't help but overhear that you needed an artist."

The Brit raised an eyebrow – only now did Francis notice his thick eyebrows – and put away his phone, "Why, are you an artist?" He gave the Frenchman a sceptical look, clearly not impressed by his ragged clothes and unkempt shoulder-length hair which was messily tied into a low ponytail.

"_Oui_, _monsieur_," Francis said, straightening his posture and giving a charming smile, "I don't know how many paintings you will need, but I am sure I can get it done. I'm willing to take any offer at this point..."

Arthur looked at the Frenchman from top to toe again, and Francis swore he saw a bit of pity in the foreigner's bright green eyes. The Brit sighed, "I'm also willing to hire any artist at this point. Fine – you're hired. Follow me."

"B-but, _monsieur_, don't you want to see my art first?" Francis asked, running after the Brit, "I haven't even introduced myself yet!"

"I'm already convinced," the blond man said, "I'm Arthur Kirkland."

"Okay..." Francis said slowly, adjusting his pace to the Englishman's one, "I'm Francis Bonnefoy."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Arthur said and gave Francis a light smile.

"Likewise, _monsieur_ Kirkland," Francis said, returning the smile.

The Frenchman could hardly believe his luck. Of all people to catch his attention, it was a man in need of an artist. The past couple of days he had spent on the streets as a beggar, living from the food or money people had given him out of pity. He was sure he was going to die there, eradicated by the deadly rain. As if he had read his mind, Arthur looked at the sky and said, "We better hurry, the clouds don't look all too friendly."

Francis nodded in agreement and both men increased their pace, slipping through the large commotion of people. Francis already had a gut feeling about where they were heading to. His gut feeling was confirmed when the destination came in sight: The Louvre.

A sigh of awe escaped Francis' lips as he looked at the entrance. The museum was apparently being used to welcome a special guest. Francis remembered his mother taking him to the museum when he was younger. He would always point at his favourite paintings and say, "When I grow up, _my_ paintings will be displayed here!"

His mother would always say the same thing with a smile, "Of course, _ma chérie_, and I will come to look at your paintings every day."

Francis swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore and hide the emotions that were bubbling up.

"Are you coming in?" a familiar voice asked. Francis looked up and saw Arthur standing in the doorway, which was being held open by two – probably – servants.

"O-of course, pardon me," Francis said, trying his best to hide the crack in his voice. He quickly walked to the Brit, who took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"Are you okay?" the Englishman asked, giving Francis a sharp but slightly worried look.

"Yes – sorry," Francis said, faking a smile, "I tend to get a bit sentimental when I'm here."

Arthur gently released his grip on Francis' arm and looked around, "I can understand, I suppose. It _is_ beautiful here."

Francis nodded in agreement, the sadness quickly replaced with another emotion.

He would never understand.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

So that was the first chapter! I hope it's okay...

I apologize if there is any OOC-ness, please tell me if it's really bad!

I'm not sure if I was descriptive enough about the environment, but it's a steampunk AU, so if you can't really imagine what it looks like, just Google "steampunk" and you'll be set :)

I actually wrote this imagining a Professor Layton-esque world – but darker.

There will be a couple of OCs in this story, but I'm not planning on giving them a major role yet. I'm not very sure where I want to go with this story, to be honest... *laughs awkwardly*

Also, if you'd like, I can see if I can give your OC a place in this fanfiction! I'm afraid I won't give them a major part, but I can offer a small one! You'll get full credit for your OC, of course.

So – if you would like your OC to be in this story – please send me a message giving a detailed description about your OC, and I'll see if I can do something with it. Please keep in mind that this story is set in a steampunk AU!

Also, don't forget to R&amp;R, and all critique is welcome!

Ciao!

ChryssieVissie

_I do not own Hetalia and its related characters, but I do own this story and the cover art, so I got that going for me, which is nice. _


	2. Mist

The glass ceiling shielded the hall from the rain, but Francis still felt a bit nervous. He always wore gloves to protect his hands, but his arms often fell prey to the rain, causing the worst of pain and leaving the worst of scars.

"Alfred, this is Francis Bonnefoy," Arthur's voice pulled Francis out of his thoughts. The Frenchman looked up and saw a stunningly handsome young man. He had golden blonde hair, crystalline blue eyes, and his smile showed his pearly white teeth. His glasses gave him a mature yet youthful look. He had a relatively relaxed posture and the air around him seemed to put Francis at ease. Just like Arthur, Alfred was wearing expensive clothes. However, instead of wearing the coat like he was supposed to, he had lazily slung it over his shoulders. What Francis found odd was that Alfred's shoes were just as shiny as Arthur's. Truth to be told, Francis had expected Alfred's shoes to be – perhaps – a little dirty. With an American accent he spoke, "Nice to meet you, Francis! I'm Alfred Jones."

"Likewise, _monsieur_ Jones," Francis said politely.

"There's no need to call me that!" Alfred said with a loud laugh, "You make me sound like I'm 40! Please, just Alfred is okay."

Francis nodded and mumbled a quick apology. He averted his gaze as the Englishman and American started discussing something. The Louvre was as beautiful as ever, and the statues around him still managed to take his breath away. The Frenchman couldn't help but wonder who would have the honour of being received here in the museum. Francis remembered hearing Arthur talk about a "duchess". So it was an important figure, not surprisingly.

Arthur asked something, pulling Francis back to reality once again. The Frenchman blinked a few times, trying to process what the Brit had just asked. Finally he realized what had just been said, "I-In _two hours_? The painting won't even have time to dry!"

"I remember you telling me that you could get it done," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes a little. Francis inwardly cursed at himself – he had actually said that. Defeated, Francis straightened his posture and said, "I'll see what I can do, _monsieur_."

Arthur smiled, clearly content with the Frenchman's answer, "Good! Now, we need a portrait of a young woman with olive skin, almond-shaped brown eyes, and black hair. The rest is up to you, really."

"Okay, but where do I have to work?" Francis asked, holding up his leather bag.

"You can work right here for all I care," Arthur said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner, "just don't make a mess. Now, if you'll excuse us, I have other business to attend to."

Arthur quickly turned on his heel and walked away, followed by Alfred who wished Francis a quick "good luck" before he left.

The artist was sure of one thing: he was going to need the "good luck".

* * *

Never in his life had Francis so hastily sketched what he wanted, mixed his paints, and painted. After the final finishing touches, he stepped back and looked at his work. The portrait looked better than he had expected. It wasn't the best he could do – he would need much more time for that. However, he was quite impressed that he was able to do so much in so little time.

"Dude, that looks sick!" a familiar voice said, "I had no idea you could do that!"

"_Merci_, Alfred," Francis said, beaming.

"Alfred I told you to refrain from using that kind of language!" Arthur called out as he came over to view the portrait. He, too, seemed amazed, "That's very impressive, Francis. Right – can somebody put the painting over... there! Yes, that would look lovely."

Francis watched as his work, easel and all, was carefully placed where Alfred had gestured to. There was a warm and proud feeling in his chest. One of _his_ paintings was being displayed in the Louvre. He looked at the clouds, which had cleared away just a little, and a smile appeared on his face.

"Now – Francis – about the payment," Arthur said, taking out a wallet, "I hope this will suffice."

Francis was handed a few notes, and he couldn't believe how much money he was holding at that moment. If he had sold all of his best paintings he still wouldn't have earned half as much as this. On one hand it felt really weird, accepting so much money for such a hastily done painting. However, on the other hand, Francis really needed the money. With an honest smile and a "thank you" the artist safely kept the notes in his leather bag.

"Oh, but could you just do me one more favour?" Arthur asked.

"Anything, _monsieur_," Francis said, still smiling.

"I think the duchess will want to meet you after seeing the painting," Arthur said with a smile. The Englishman was clearly more at ease now. He continued, "Will you please stay a little longer?"

Francis nodded eagerly. This meant getting recognition for his work, shelter from the rain, and spending more time in the museum. How could he possibly turn down this offer?

* * *

"Arthur, she's here," a soft voice said. The voice belonged to another blond young man who seemed to resemble Alfred a bit. However, his hair was parted differently and he had violet eyes.

Arthur nodded, but before he could even say something the doors were pushed open and two women walked into the hall. Francis couldn't believe his eyes. He looked at his painting and back at the taller woman. Almost every single detail had been spot on. (Except for her nose – her nose was a bit bigger in reality.) She was smiling, and held her hands in the air as she said, "Here I am!"

The woman – the duchess, Francis presumed – was wearing a scarlet dress paired with dark brown leather boots and matching gloves. In her hair she wore a large ribbon with the same colour as her dress.

Next to her stood another woman with olive skin and black hair similar to the duchess. However, she was a lot shorter and a lot more quiet. She had a charming look, in the pastel pink dress, but the constant grin she was wearing was a bit unsettling. The woman had a childlike appearance to her, and Francis would have thought she was a young girl if it weren't for her – eh – rather large chest.

"Charlotte Dragonheart, Duchess of-"

"Oh my gosh! Is that me?" the duchess – or Charlotte – exclaimed, ignoring Arthur, "Please tell me they got my nose right!" She immediately ran to the painting and examined it in awe. The woman in the pink dress followed her around like a puppy. Captivated by the painting, the duchess slowly reached out to touch the canvas.

"It's not dry yet!" the words had escaped Francis' lips so quickly, he had taken himself by surprise. A silence fell. Realizing what he just had done, he quickly pressed his hands onto his mouth, eyes wide in shock. He could wave good-bye to the Louvre for sure now.

Charlotte seemed just as shocked, but she quickly straightened her posture, as if she has just remembered who and where she was.

"I am so sorry for yelling like that, _madame_," Francis said with a meek voice as he looked at the floor in shame, "please forgive me."

"No, no!" the duchess quickly said, petting the woman in the pink dress on her head, "I should apologize – I was behaving like a child," she turned to Arthur and smiled sheepishly, "I'm sorry for interrupting you, dear."

Arthur sighed and said: "It's... okay. As I was saying-"

"No, no, please don't do that," Charlotte said, running over to Arthur and squishing his cheeks with her hands, "no need for formalities! I know all of you already! Except for," she turned to look at Francis, "you! What's your name, if I may ask?"

"Francis, Francis Bonnefoy, _madame_," the Frenchman said quickly.

"Did you paint this?" Charlotte asked, finally releasing Arthur's face so she could gesture at the portrait. The Frenchman nodded, and immediately the duchess ran to the artist just to grab his hands and twirl him around, "magnificent! Fabulous! It's perfect! You're so talented! (But you didn't get my nose right...)"

Francis felt really flattered by all the compliments, but he also felt rather awkward being twirled around in the museum like that, with all those strangers around him. He wasn't sure what was happening, to be honest.

* * *

It took a while before Charlotte finally stopped praising and treating the Frenchman like a teddy bear. He still didn't know what Charlotte was a duchess of, but that place was probably doomed.

Arthur had given Francis permission to stay in the museum as long as he liked. So there the artist was, wandering in the museum, taking the exact same route he and his mother always used to take. He felt proud, and happy. He stopped to look at another painting, admiring the clever use of the colours.

"...the factories run by Alpha look highly suspicious," Francis heard Arthur's voice say from another room, "but we can't just march in there – you know what the police is like nowadays."

There is something so thrilling and exciting about eavesdropping, and as a curious person it's something you can't help but do. No, it was not the right thing to do, but it was not like Francis could just ignore whatever was going on and just continue strolling through the museum.

It didn't take long for him to find where the voices came from. Carefully, Francis knelt down next to a door, gently pressing his ear against the dark wood. He had to try his very best to keep his breathing soft and shallow, but the fact that his heart was racing didn't really help. Many things out of his grasp of understanding were being discussed, and the name "Alpha" was repeatedly being used. He counted five different voices. It was impossible to not recognize Alfred's, Arthur's, and Charlotte's voices. The fourth voice seemed vaguely familiar, it was soft, gentle, and a bit shy. After a while Francis concluded that the voice probably belonged to the young man that looked a bit like Alfred. However, the fifth voice was completely new. It sounded strange, but captivating in an odd way. In fact, it almost sounded as if the person that was speaking was purring.

Suddenly a silence fell in the room. Francis snapped out of his thoughts, realizing what he had just done. He had leaned against the door just a little too much, causing it to creak.

"My, my," the purring voice said, "I think we have an eavesdropper."

Immediately the door flung open, and Francis toppled over, into the room. Alfred was holding the door open, glaring down at the Frenchman. In fact, everybody in the room looked ready to slit Francis' throat. If it weren't for the fact he was in such a risky situation at that moment, he would have praised himself for guessing the fourth voice correctly. The fifth voice – much to his surprise – belonged to the woman in the pastel pink dress. She was still grinning.

"What do you think you're doing?" Arthur asked, scowling at Francis.

"I-I was walking down there, when I heard voices coming from this room," Francis said truthfully, "I got curious, and I-I – well..."

Charlotte had completely lost her friendly and childish demeanour, and said with a cold voice: "You decided to eavesdrop, out of curiosity."

The woman in the pastel pink dress was leaning on the armchair where Charlotte was sitting in, "Well, would you look at that... curiosity killed the cat."

"If you're a spy for Alpha," Alfred said, drawing a gun out of his back pocket and aiming at Francis, "you might as well say your last words right now."

All of the muscles in the artist's body tensed. He stared at the weapon and the person wielding it. All of the people in this room had seemed so friendly less than half and hour ago. They were a bit of an odd bunch, but Francis had never expected that the charming American would be pointing a gun at him. Everyone was waiting for Francis to say or do something. Francis, on the other hand, was waiting for somebody to stroll by and save him out of this situation. Anybody would do, really. However, it was obvious that that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Francis was trying his very best to find something to say, but the immense pressure left his mind blank.

"I-I'm sorry," Francis blurted out. He inwardly cursed at himself: none of the people seemed to react to what he had just said. It was as if they hadn't heard him say anything at all. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes, ready for his head to be blown off.

"That settles it, he's not a spy," Arthur said calmly, "put away the gun, Alfred, you'll scare him to death at this point."

Francis opened his eyes and released his bottom lip, which was bleeding a bit now. Alfred had put away his gun. Instead of a scowl he was wearing a smile on his face, and his arm was outstretched to help Francis get up. Hesitantly the Frenchman took his hand and the American pulled him up. Everybody in the room looked a lot more friendly now – as if closing and opening his eyes had done the trick. Arthur gestured for Francis to come inside, and Alfred closed the door.

"Now, let's hope nobody else is going to eavesdrop," Alfred joked and gave Francis' shoulder a friendly punch. The Frenchman laughed awkwardly, still unsure of what was going on. Heck, his entire day had been one big surprise.

* * *

Despite the friendly looking faces around him, the artist felt like he was trapped in a cage with five hungry wolves, ready to devour him. The crimson shade of the carpet and curtains that reminded him of blood did not help with that matter. So Francis had asked, as carefully and politely as he could, what on Earth was going on. Much to his surprise, instead of having his throat slit, he got an explanation. Apparently Arthur and Alfred were the founders of an organisation called "Omega", which existed to get rid of the corrupt governments and eradicate the big difference between rich and poor. This caught Francis by surprise, considering the fact all of the people in the room were extremely well-dressed (except for himself). Matthew – the shy young man that looked a bit like Alfred – then explained that some of the members of Omega, like himself, were poor too, but got approached by Arthur or Alfred in order to help them because of their talents. This led to Arthur explaining the tasks or roles of the people present. Despite both being the "leaders", Arthur was often away because he had a lot of "acquaintances" with political influence, and needed to keep up his appearance in order to keep the trust of these acquaintances. This resulted in Alfred being the "boss" most of the time. Matthew was – apparently – a genius with computers. Charlotte was, just like Arthur, an influential person and thus not always present. Amy – the woman that kept grinning – was Charlotte's "pet", as they liked to call it. Apparently she was very good at getting what she wanted.

All of this information led to one question, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Francis," Arthur said, stepping forward into the faint light of the lamp, "we want you to join Omega, obviously. I thought you would have figured that one out long ago."

Francis raised his eyebrows, "_Moi_? I am flattered, but what help would I be?"

"Don't be silly, Francis," Charlotte said lazily from her armchair, "you're an artist – you're a lot more observant than other people. Amy has been keeping an eye on you for a while now."

Francis glanced at Charlotte's "pet", and felt a chill creep up his spine. Her grin was very unsettling right now. A silence fell again – they were obviously waiting for Francis to answer. He sighed deeply and said, "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"See, told you he was clever," Amy purred proudly, earning a pet on her head from Charlotte.

"Good, that settles it," Arthur said with a content smile that Francis easily recognized.

"Welcome to the team," Alfred said with a big smile, putting an arm around Francis' shoulders, "sorry I pointed that gun at you earlier."

* * *

It was raining. The sound of the raindrops hitting the car made Francis very nervous, and he kept clutching his leather bag to his chest. The searing pain of the rain biting his skin was still fresh in his mind. It had been long since the worst storm he had experienced, but the scars were still there.

"Hey, dude, you okay?" Alfred asked. He had switched back to his normal way of speaking. Because, really, who was going to tell him off? Arthur, Charlotte, and Amy had left to attend to other business.

Francis nodded quietly, when he remembered something he wanted to ask, "How did Arthur know I wasn't a spy?"

Francis noticed Alfred glance at him from the rear mirror before answering, "Hm... I remember him telling me that the people who work for Alpha never apologize for their actions. Those guys want to make themselves believe that they're gods or something. They always say 'whatever a god does is always righteous'. Crazy, right?"

Francis hummed softly in agreement, lost in his thoughts once again. Alfred and Matthew were talking to each other about something, but Francis wasn't paying any attention. He was still a bit shocked by everything that had happened today, actually, and he could hardly believe he had joined some secret rebellious organisation. That's why it took a couple of shouts for Alfred to pull Francis out of his thoughts.

"Dude, we're here," Alfred said with a laugh.

* * *

**Author's Note**

...and that was the first real chapter! Yesterday night I stayed up until, like, 3 AM just because I had so many ideas for this story. I finally know exactly where I want to go with this, and I hope the result will be just as exciting as all the ideas I had! Yes, I'm very proud of myself :)  
Anyway, I don't know how long it will take for me to write the next chapter... We'll see.

By the way, I wonder if anybody was able to see the references to other movies/stories I made...? There are two in this chapter, so a big applause to you if you found them both!

Shout out to the people following this story! =7=

Don't forget to R&amp;R, and any critique is highly appreciated!

Ciao!

ChryssieVissie

PS: If you see any spelling/grammar mistakes, please let me know!


	3. Drizzle

If there was one thing Francis was grateful for at that moment, it had to be the roof over the parking lot. Said roof was also connected to the building they were about to enter. The three... acquaintances got out of the car before Alfred locked it. Francis followed Alfred and Matthew to the front door, pressing his leather bag against his chest as he gripped onto it. The rain was just a few centimetres away from him, and it had the ability to devour his skin any moment again. Alfred and Matthew, on the contrary, seemed completely at ease. The moment they had stepped inside, Francis relaxed a bit more. The sound of the rain was still audible, but at least the actual rain couldn't reach him now.

The building they had just entered looked relatively small from the outside (Francis wouldn't have noticed it if they had driven past it), but was relatively big on the inside. The dark wooden floorboards made an awful amount of noise whenever you walked around, but it masked the sound of the rain, so it wasn't all that bad. The walls were burgundy red, the windows were dirty, and the black curtains were covered with dust. They were in a kind of lounge, or reception, and there were two doors at opposite sides of the room. One was open and led to a spiral staircase, but the other was shut. The sofa and armchairs matched the wallpaper, and the coffee table had a jar with sweets. The light from the copper lamps hanging from the ceilings was a bit reddish, giving the room a warm and homely atmosphere.

Francis smiled – he had no regrets joining Omega.

"Want me to take your coat?" Alfred asked Francis with his trademark smile.

"_Non, merci_," Francis declined politely, "I'd rather keep it on."

"If you say so," Alfred shrugged, hanging his and Matthew's coat up on the pegs next to the front door. The American turned back and continued, "I want you to meet the others! Wait here, I'll be right back." With that, Alfred stormed off through the open door, and down the spiral staircase.

Matthew sighed softly – almost inaudibly – and sat down on the sofa. Francis joined him, putting down his leather bag on the floor. There was an awkward silence, making both men rather uncomfortable. Deciding to get rid of the awkwardness, Francis asked, "Why is this organisation actually called Omega?"

Matthew looked at Francis, as if he was surprised that Francis actually knew he existed. Quickly he regained his composure and said with a soft voice, "Um... well, I believe Arthur came up with the name. Because Omega is the last letter of the Greek alphabet, it symbolizes the end... It's our goal to make an end to this corrupt world, so that's why... Oh, and we didn't choose this name just because one of our suspects is the company Alpha, you know. It was pure co-"

"The hero has returned!" an all too familiar voice with an American accent announced. Francis looked up and saw Alfred together with two strangers. (Had Francis kept his eyes on Matthew instead, he would have seen that the Canadian was dying on the inside.) The taller one had combed back blond hair, icy blue eyes, and wore a stern and serious look on his face. The other one had snow white hair and crimson eyes – which quite caught Francis off guard – and he was grinning.

"Francis, this is Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt," Alfred introduced, "They're actually doing almost all the science around here, and they're also mechanics for... well, they can fix pretty much everything. Ludwig, Gilbert, this is Francis! He's an artist and has excellent observation skills."

"I wouldn't say I'm that-"

"Nice to meet you, _Welpe_!" Gilbert interrupted, grinning, "Be careful not to get bitten!"

Francis cringed upon hearing the last word, immediately averting his gaze. He was clenching his fists so hard that his fingernails were digging into his skin, bound to leave ugly marks.

"That is no way to talk to people, _Bruder_," Ludwig said, giving his brother a scowl. Gilbert didn't really seem to care about what his brother had to say, looking at Francis instead. He was curious and a bit worried about the Frenchman's reaction, but sensing the tense atmosphere, he decided to leave his questions for another time.

"If that is all, then the awesome me will return to doing my awesome science!" Gilbert said as he struck a pose before running back to the stairs, "come, _Bruder_, let us return to our Awesome Science Cave!"

"Just say 'basement'!" Ludwig called after his brother, following him with a scowl.

* * *

Francis finally had a place to call "home" again. He had moved into Omega's office, and was sharing a room with Matthew. Not that he minded – the lilac-eyed man was very quiet and didn't take up much space. Now, there was one thing that Francis did mind – it was something he hadn't experienced in a long time – and that was plain old boredom. There hadn't been much to do since he had joined Omega. Well, there was nothing for _him_ to do. Gilbert and Ludwig were always busy in their so-called – according to Gilbert - "Awesome Science Cave", Matthew was usually using his computer, Alfred was always either eating something in the "living room" (the room Francis thought was the reception), or trying to decipher something in his office. (After a bit of snooping around the artist found out that the closed door in the living room led to the offices.) Francis had only been in Alfred's office a few times. There was a single wall filled with scraps of paper, notes, newspaper clippings, photographs, maps, and anything else to help the American figure who-knows-what out. Arthur's office actually had exactly the same furnishing as Alfred's office, but Arthur's office was a lot more organized. Maybe this was because Arthur was hardly around? Francis could only wonder. In fact, he could wonder about so many things, because there was still nothing to do. He had drawn a lot in his sketchbook, he had read several books, and he had even completed a landscape painting – all just to kill time. So, when Alfred announced that he wanted everyone to gather in the living room, Francis was the first to be there.

"So, you must be wondering why I summoned you here today," Alfred said with a sly grin.

"Get to the point, Alfred," a voice Francis hadn't heard in a long time said. All eyes were turned to the direction where the voice had come from. Arthur was leaning against the wall next to the door to the offices. When had he gotten in here?

"All right, all right," Alfred said, returning to his old, cheerful self, "You all know we've been highly suspicious of Alpha for a while now, and we aren't getting any useful information anywhere any more. So, I want to break into one of their factories."

While Alfred had been talking, Arthur had made his way to the vacant armchair and had sat himself down. He spoke, "What do you think we'll find there?"

"That's what we want to find out!" Alfred said, pointing at Arthur with a grin, "We don't know. We don't know what's being produced in those factories. We only know that the upper class citizens pay a hefty sum to get their hands on what is being made there, and that nobody says a word about what they are buying."

"Okay, that aside," Gilbert said with a surprisingly serious voice, "but how are you planning to break in? Not only that – _who_ is going to do it?"

* * *

Getting inside had to be the hardest part, right? Francis hoped so, because slipping past the guards took an awful lot of sneaking about and timing. He and Matthew continued lurking through the shadows, trying their best to not be seen but still get a good view on what was happening. The loud machinery was whirring and making all kinds of frightening noises. There were no employees to operate the machines, just guards and people boxing whatever was being produced.

"We have to get closer," Francis whispered to Matthew, who nodded in agreement.

Have you ever wished that an object can be sent to Hell? Have you ever wished that an object – a random pebble, in this case – could feel pain, remorse, and – oh – did I mention pain? Because Francis most certainly did. His foot had hit a small, tiny pebble, which smoothly glided over the factory floor. Now, if it only had made a sound, it wouldn't be a big deal – the sound of the machinery would cover everything up. However, there was _movement_. Guess what? A guard, who was first idly dreaming away, had noticed the pebble in the corner of his eyes. The sounds of the footsteps sounded awfully frightening as they came closer and closer, and the constant noise that the machinery was making did not help lighten the mood in particular.

Under his breath Francis prayed to – well – whatever deity or higher force there was that was willing to listen. The Frenchman and Canadian both shut their eyes, ready for the yells of alarm and accusation.

"Hey, you! What are you doing here? I called you three times already! Hurry up and help me get those boxes to the van!" a voice with a thick American accent yelled. Somebody must have heard Francis' prayers, because – thank whoever had helped them – the yelling was not directed at the two partners.

The two guards left, and the artist peeked around the corner. Gone. The hall was empty, except for Francis and Matthew. The partners nodded at each other and continued their venture into the factory, stopping at a pile of boxes on a table. The boxes were roughly 15 centimetres long, 10 centimetres wide, and 5 centimetres tall, and made of a smooth, black material. Each box had a crimson ribbon carefully tied around it, with a matching seal wax that had the letter "A" on it.

"We need to know what's in those boxes," Matthew whispered, reaching out to pick one up. However, Francis stopped him, pointing at a neat pile of papers.

"...a drug?" Francis murmured.

* * *

"It's called 'covetine'," Francis explained, "we're not sure about the effects of the drug, but if you take the name into consideration, it's either highly valuable – or it makes people greedy. However, it's probably both, double-"

"Meaning," Arthur finished and smiled at the Frenchman, "You're very sharp, Francis. It wasn't a mistake letting you join."

"_Merci_," Francis muttered, looking at the wooden floorboards.

"Right... now we know they're producing a drug, and we _approximately_ know what it does," Alfred murmured, leaning back, clearly in thought, "Only we have no idea what it looks like, except that it is packaged in small black boxes..."

Suddenly he sat up straight, looked Francis straight into his eyes, and said, "Strip."

"_What_!?" Francis said, taking a step back and clutching his chest as if he were a woman hiding her breasts.

Alfred shook his head and quickly said, "Let me rephrase that – I need you and Matthew to give your clothes to Gilbert and Ludwig. Maybe they have traces of the drug on it."

Francis and Matthew both raised their eyebrows, the German brothers exchanged a glance, and the artist also noticed Arthur's eyes shifting to Alfred. However, the Frenchman and Canadian complied, following the "Awesome Science Brothers" to their "Awesome Science Cave".

* * *

"And naturally, the Awesome Science Brothers have succeeded!" Gilbert said, loudly announcing his presence in the living room, "the drug, covetine, is black and has a crystalline structure! No need to thank me, no need for an applause, I know I'm awesome!"

"Well, now we know what to look for from now on..." Alfred mumbled, "Say, Arthur, do you think you can get your hands on one of those boxes?"

The Englishman closed his eyes in thought, "I do not believe that any of the people I have contact with directly consume the drug, but I will try asking around. I'll inform Charlotte and Amy to do their part as well. I have a feeling they will be more successful."

Alfred nodded in agreement before getting up and excusing himself to go to his office. This left Francis, Gilbert, and Arthur in the living room. The Englishman whipped out his pocket watch, looked at it for a moment, and put it back into the pocket of his waistcoat again. He stood up, saying, "I agreed to meet a politician for tea, and I'd rather not be late. Good-bye."

With those words he grabbed his coat, put it on, and left. Now it was only Francis and Gilbert left. The German sat down next to the Frenchman on the sofa, and said, "Say, Francis, can I ask you something?"

Francis nodded, "_Bien sûr, mon ami._"

Gilbert examined Francis carefully before parting his lips and asking, "When I met you for the first time... why did you look so tense when I said 'bitten'?"

Francis cringed again, clenched his fists again, and dug his nails into his skin again. Gilbert quickly looked away, murmuring, "Sorry, you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"N-No, it's okay, really," Francis said, trying his best to relax and ignore the creeping memories of the searing pain on his skin. He continued, "You... you ought to know."

Gilbert remained quiet, giving Francis the time he needed. Finally the blond artist managed to speak up, saying, "Before I joined Omega, I lived on the streets as a beggar. I hardly earned anything as an artist, so I couldn't afford a roof above my head... I couldn't afford any shelter from the rain, s-so... I have a lot of scars now."

"What about your parents?" Gilbert asked carefully, "Couldn't they offer you shelter?"

"I've never known my father," Francis said bitterly, "and my mother... she... she died."

A silence fell. A tense, bitter silence filled with many other negative emotions. Gilbert greatly regretted bringing up the subject, and it really hurt him to see the Frenchman suffer like that. Quietly the German said, "...I'm sorry... I shouldn't have-"

"_S'il vous plaît_, Gilbert, there is no need to apologize," Francis interrupted, "You couldn't have known, it's not your fault."

Gilbert nodded wordlessly, his eyes fixed on the floor, just like Francis. The two sat there in silence, but a much less tense silence now. Actually it was quite a relief to tell somebody about the thing that had been haunting him for ages, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Francis took a deep breath through his nose before letting out a long sigh. It was as if he was a balloon full of negative emotions, and he was letting it all out now. Yes, he was. He was telling Gilbert everything – from memories from his childhood to the things that annoyed him. Everything, every random thought that had once occurred to him, every funny thing that he had seen, everything he had wanted to tell somebody but couldn't – he was now finally letting it all out, and Gilbert listened attentively. When Francis finally finished, he wore a smile on his face. Despite having spoken about many depressing subjects, he felt... happy.

"_Merci, mon ami_, for listening," Francis said with a bright, and honest smile.

"_Kein Problem_," Gilbert laughed, happy to see Francis smiling. Talking to him had helped after all. Gilbert smirked, "Now you have to listen to my awesome story! Of course, because my story is more awesome than yours, it's going to take at least twice as long!"

Francis stared at Gilbert for a moment before they both burst out in laughter. However, the moment they had heard how the laugh of the other person sounded, they fell silent again, and were staring at each other – again.

Gilbert snorted before bursting into a fit of laughter, worse than before, "You sound like a llama when you laugh!"

"Look who's talking!" Francis said, laughing just as loud as his friend, as he gave him a playful punch to the shoulder.

It was nice, laughing like this again.

* * *

**Author's Note**

It's 4 AM and I _finally_ finished writing, and there's _finally_ some development in the story! *sighs*

Anyway, I think I'm going to make Francis' flirty and mischievous personality – his real personality – come out more in the next few chapters... We'll see :)

Ciao!

ChryssieVissie


	4. Bite

Francis truly couldn't be any happier. He had a place to call home, and people to call his friends – no – family. In only a little amount of time Francis had developed a very strong bond with Gilbert. In fact, Gilbert had helped Francis a lot with opening up and showing his true personality. It started when Francis made a barely audible sarcastic comment about something Arthur had said. Hearing that wasn't so difficult for Gilbert, mostly because he was standing right next to the Frenchman. From there, everything – er – pretty much went downhill (according to the other members of Omega). Francis started getting more sociable, cheeky, and – worst of all (according to the other members of Omega) – flirtatious. Of course he would still be serious when time called for it, but gradually majority of his comments turned either sarcastic, suggestive, or just plain offensive. Naturally everybody blamed Gilbert for influencing Francis too much – but this really wasn't the case. Despite being annoying (according to the other members of Omega), Francis had finally shown his true self. He never really stopped smiling, and there was always this warm, happy feeling in his chest. He even found the courage to stop wearing his gloves.

* * *

There was a big discussion going on in the living room. It was a monthly thing, where everyone would share whatever information they had gathered, and discuss it to determine their plans for the next month. Every single member of Omega was present, including Arthur, Charlotte, and Amy. Alfred was, of course, the loudest once again, always being the first one to respond to – well – everything, and never really giving anyone the time to talk. Finally Arthur started to tell him off, and they started arguing.

"Um... guys?" a meek, barely audible voice said. Francis looked around, trying to find the person that had spoken. It took a while, but he realized that it was Matthew that was trying to say something.

Wanting to help him, Francis (smugly) said, "Now, I know there's sexual tension between the both of you, but I think Matthew wants to say something."

Alfred and Arthur both shouted something that denied the sexual tension statement made by Francis, but after that they remained quiet. Matthew smiled at Francis and quietly thanked him before speaking up a little louder, "I did a lot of research about the factories, and I found an abandoned factory in the outskirts of town. I think they used to produce covetine there..."

"What makes you think that?" Ludwig asked with raised eyebrows. (A miracle had occurred – Alfred had remained silent.)

"Well... the factory is situated along the Seine, and they always dumped their waste there, polluting the river with a blackish colour... Animals seem to keep their distance from the black waste, and the riverbanks are barren," Matthew explained, pressing his thumb to his lips as he was deep in thought, "There are hardly and people in that area any more, just ruins, so it's worth a shot, I suppose. Who knows what we'll find."

Alfred nodded eagerly and grinned, "That's sick, dude! I think we'll only need one person to do this job. Any volunteers?"

"The awesome me will go!" Gilbert said with a determined grin, "It is time to take a break from the Awesome Science Cave!"

Ludwig groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead, "Why can't he just say basement?"

* * *

Francis kept running.

The tunnel went on and on, leading to nothing but blackness. There were millions of eyes in the walls, varying in shapes and sizes. All the eyes were constantly focused on Francis, watching his every move. More and more splatters of crimson appeared on the walls and floor as he kept going down the only path there was to follow. Finally everything around him was dyed red, and Francis stopped running, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Now the sound of his footsteps were gone, he could hear whispers. Very faint, but loud enough to hear what they were saying.

_We're watching you. _

The smell of blood and the stench of something rotting was making the blond man feel sick. There was more and more blood trickling into the tunnel as time passed, and the crimson liquid were already up to Francis' ankles.

_We're watching you. _

Francis continued running, the blood splashing onto his clothes as he tried tried to escape the gruesome scene. The eyes were still trained on him, and more whispers joined.

_You can't escape. _

When he realized what he had been running to all along, Francis was on the verge of breaking down and crying. The end of the tunnel was just a wall with more eyes. The path had been a dead end all along.

_There's a traitor. _

Francis gave in to his emotions, hugging himself as he cried, desperate for comfort.

Blood will be spilled.

Francis felt his hands suddenly turn warm and sticky. He slowly opened his eyes, and looked at his hands. They were covered in blood.

_Was it you? _

The whispers became louder and louder, and more voices joined.

_Traitor! _

_Murderer! _

_Your friends are dead because of you! _

"No... no..." Francis said, stumbling back, falling into the blood, "I... I would never..."

_Your mother is dead because of you! _

"SHUT UP!" Francis screamed, digging his fingers into his scalp and staining his hair with red, "THAT'S NOT TRUE!"

"Woah – dude! Chill" a familiar voice called.

Francis' eyes snapped open, and he was greeted by a white ceiling – no red to be seen. He looked to his side: Alfred and Matthew were standing next to his bed.

"You almost woke everyone, dude!" Alfred said with a laugh, "You okay? Did you have a nightmare?"

Francis sighed inwardly. It was all just a dream. A cruel dream, but – a dream. He nodded, "Yeah, I had a really freaky nightmare. _Pardonnez-moi_ for waking you."

"It's okay," Matthew said with a comforting smile, "It's already 8 AM anyway."

"Hey, we should totally go for a drink later," Alfred said with a grin, "might calm you down a little."

Matthew looked at the ceiling in thought, "I don't think I can-"

"You're not invited."

"Oh."

* * *

Francis had never been to this café before, and he had also never noticed it before. It was small and cosy, with just a few tables for customers. There also was a display with many cakes, _macarons_, and other sweets. The wooden furniture combined with the many colourful cushions scattered throughout the café and the smell of freshly baked pastries gave a pleasant homely feeling. Francis and Alfred were enjoying their drinks and snacks, chatting about many different topics, ranging from their favourite animals to their mutual hate for Arthur's (terrible) cooking.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Alfred said, idly stirring his coffee.

"_Bien sûr_," Francis said before bringing his mug to his lips.

"I know I took you here to help you calm down, but... what did you dream about?" Alfred asked. There was something different about the look he was giving Francis – and the Frenchman couldn't quite decipher what the blue eyes of the man opposite him held. Nevertheless, Francis complied and told Alfred every single detail he could remember about his dream. Sadly, he could still vividly remember the sticky blood, the stench of rotting flesh, and the accusations of him being a traitor.

"That sucks to hear, man..." Alfred muttered, frowning as he finally averted his gaze, "Sorry that I had to make you relive that."

Francis shrugged and sighed, "It's okay. It was just a dream after all."

Alfred smiled gently, "Nothing more, nothing less."

A silence fell. Francis wasn't used to Alfred being so calm, and it was really getting on his nerves. Despite the relaxed atmosphere in the café, there was tension between the two blond men.

Suddenly the sound of rain crashing down appeared, taking everyone by surprise. There were faint screams outside as people quickly tried to get shelter or take out their umbrellas. Francis turned around, looking outside through the windows. His eyes widened, and a soft "No..." escaped his lips.

A small girl was walking outside, crying as she got enveloped in the rain. Through the sound of the rain, you could faintly hear her sing, "Rain, rain, go away, come back on another day..."

She screamed and sobbed more as she brought her hands to her face and collapsed on the ground. The rain had bitten many holes in her clothes, and was now slowly biting away her skin.

"I CAN'T LET THAT HAPPEN!" Francis exclaimed, getting up and running to the door. However, Alfred grabbed his arm and stopped him, saying, "Are you insane? You'll die!"

"She's also dying already!" Francis said, pointing at the sobbing girl outside as he tried to break free from Alfred's grasp.

"Listen to your friend, _garçon_," an old man spoke bitterly, "it's already to late for the girl."

Francis looked outside again. The stranger was right – what had once been a cheerful, sweet girl was now a pile of half-decayed flesh and rags on the sidewalk.

Francis bit on his bottom lip, trying to fight back his tears. He sat down again, closing his eyes and burying his face in his hands.

* * *

"The awesome me has returned!" Gilbert said the moment he stepped back inside, "with a bag full of stuff! Let's see what my Awesome Magic Bag has to offer today...!"

Alfred, Francis, and Arthur gathered around the coffee table and Gilbert placed everything he had found. There was a list of names, with some of the names circled with a red pen. There was also a small black box with a crimson ribbon tied around it, sealed with the capital letter A – the drug covetine, and with it was a sheet of paper with information about the drug.

Arthur picked up the paper with the names, and frowned, "This is a list with names of politicians and other influential people... Charlotte and I are on it as well – and we're circled."

"Do you know all these other people?" Alfred asked, looking at the green-eyed Brit.

"Most of them, yes," Arthur said, carefully rereading the paper, "but not all. I'll have a look in my files before going out and asking around. More importantly – I see you brought a sample of the drug."

Gilbert nodded proudly, "It was in a drawer of an old desk, along with these two. There was nothing else of interest in there. I suppose you'll let Ludwig check it out?"

Alfred nodded, "Yeah, but I want a copy of the sheet with the information."

"I'll take care of that," Francis piped up. He didn't have much else to do anyway.

"Thanks, dude," Alfred said, grinning again, "You know where to find us!"

"Have a good day," Arthur greeted before he and Alfred left for their offices.

The moment the door closed Gilbert turned to Francis and said with a hushed whisper, "Get Matthew and come to the Awesome Science Cave."

With those words, the white-haired man ran down the spiral stairs and disappeared out of sight. Francis was left there, dumbstruck.

* * *

"_Bien_, we're here, so now what-"

"Hush! Be quiet, it's an Awesome Super Secret Meeting!" Gilbert said, urging Francis and Matthew to come closer to him and his brother, "I gotta show you something!"

Gilbert took out a piece of paper from his back pocket, and unfolded it. Francis watched with a slightly appalled look. Who knows how long that had been in Gilbert's back pocket.

"So I also found this thing in the abandoned factory," Gilbert said, showing the contents of the paper.

_A, _

_the sales are excellent, my clients are desperate for more each day. _

_Can you increase the production rate? If that's not going to work, we could also increase the price. People are willing to pay any amount to get their hands on it right now. Ironic, isn't it, considering the drug's effects? _

_I'll see you soon, _

It was signed with nothing but a heart.

"Wait, so _A_ is a person? It would be odd to write to a company and use "you"..." Matthew said out loud, "Francis, do you think...?"

"The capital A then probably stands for whoever this is, not Alpha," Francis mused, scratching the stubble on his chin in thought, "So those boxes..."

Gilbert nodded, "That's what I thought too. The real question is, what does A then _actually_ stand for, if not for "Alpha"? It's obviously the name of a person, considering how the letter was written..."

A silence fell. They all thought the same thing, but nobody wanted to acknowledge it.

Finally, Ludwig broke the silence by saying what every single one of them was thinking, "I only know three people who's names start with the letter A."

"Amy..." Gilbert murmured.

"Arthur..." Matthew whispered.

"Alfred..." Francis mumbled with a dry throat.

"We can't let any of them see this letter," Ludwig said, "Do any of you know a good hiding place?"

"My back pocket will do," Gilbert shrugged, causing Ludwig to sigh, "we better worry about the sender – a nameless person. They signed with just a heart, so I suppose A and Nameless are... maybe lovers?"

"There's not much evidence to support that theory," Francis said, carefully looking at the handwriting, "but it's a plausible one. But... how is Amy a suspect of being A? I can't really imagine her running a drugs business. Not only that, she's more the sales kind of person. If anything, she could have been the one that sent the letter. She's... well, expressive enough to sign her letters with a heart, I suppose."

"That's a much more realistic theory," Ludwig said, nodding in agreement, "but that means she still is a suspect anyway. What about Charlotte? Do you suppose she has something to do with this?"

They all thought for a moment before Matthew softly spoke up, "She's very unpredictable and a very skilled actress, I wouldn't be surprised if she was faking everything all along..."

"In other words, the other half of Omega is under suspicion of being traitors?" Gilbert asked.

_There's a traitor._

Francis swallowed the lump in his throat before saying, "Alfred was also acting very weird today at the café..."

"How so?" the others asked, almost in unison.

"He asked me about my nightmare while he had brought me there to forget about it," Francis said with a frown, "and while he was listening he had this strange look on his face, but I couldn't quite figure out what he could have been thinking."

"What do you mean with strange?" Matthew asked.

"He seemed a bit too calm and intrigued," the artist explained, "or something. There was just something in his look that made me uncomfortable."

Gilbert snorted and smirked, "Are you sure it wasn't just sexual tension?"

Ludwig scowled at his brother, "This is no time to make jokes!"

Gilbert laughed in the odd way he always did and said, "Sorry, _Bruder_. I couldn't help it."

* * *

"Matthew? Are you still awake?" Francis whispered.

"Yeah..."

"Can't sleep too?"

"Uhuh."

Francis looked at the blank ceiling a little longer before closing his eyes. There was so much going on, and he really didn't want to think about any of it. What if Arthur or Alfred were really "A"? If it were either of them, Omega would be equally screwed. No – if it were Alfred, Omega would be even worse off. Alfred had the leadership by himself most of the time because Arthur wasn't always around. Francis couldn't get the image of Alfred's intricate azure eyes out of his head. The confusing look in the American's eyes was deeply engraved into Francis' memory.

"What if... what if it's really Arthur? Or... Alfred?" Matthew asked softly, "What will we do?"

"...I don't know," Francis whispered, completely honest.

"...I grew up with those two... they're like brothers to me..." Matthew said with a crack in his voice, "I don't want... that..."

Francis rolled onto his side and looked at Matthew on the other side of the room, "Me neither, but we'll figure something out. You, me, Gilbert, and Ludwig. I know we will. Don't let it bother you too much, okay? It's just a theory."

Matthew nodded and smiled awkwardly, "Thanks, Francis. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Francis whispered back and Matthew turned his back to him.

Francis thought of the encouraging words he had said to Matthew. He really wanted to hit himself, because he knew very well that they were all lies.

* * *

**Author's Note**

*tired zombie noises*

Sorry for taking so long to upload. I haven't been motivated to continue writing because of a lack of inspiration, but I forced myself to complete a chapter today. So... I'm sorry if it's not very good...

Two more chapters to go!

What?

Yes!

(Gosh, I'm tired.)

Don't forget to R&amp;R!

Ciao!

_Chryssie_


	5. Storm

"I think we should test the drug," Alfred suddenly spoke. Everybody looked at him. Every single member of Omega was present in the living room, and they were all looking at the blond American. Alfred was sitting in an armchair, his eyes flitting from face to face, waiting for any reaction at all. Arthur occupied the other armchair, with Charlotte casually leaning against the backrest.

"I volunteer," Gilbert said with a snort and lazily raised his hand.

"_Bruder_, are you mad-"

"Maybe I am," Gilbert chuckled and patted Ludwig on his head, "for Awesome Science, _ja_?"

"Thank you for volunteering, Gilbert," Alfred said with a curt nod, "I think it's best if we test it in the basement. Ludwig, Arthur, you come along too."

After having said that, Alfred, Gilbert, Ludwig, and Arthur got up and left for the basement, leaving the four remaining members behind. Charlotte immediately sunk into the armchair that had been previously occupied by Arthur. She sighed deeply, "I always get left out when the fun stuff happens. It's not fair, you know?"

Francis raised his eyebrows, "What do you mean?"

Amy curled up on the armchair which had been occupied by Alfred and purred, "Charlie is really into chemistry and biology – especially drugs and poisons and the effects they have on the human body. She's a doctor, one of the best, in fact. Didn't you know?"

"You give me too much credit, Amy," Charlotte said, gently holding up a gloved hand to hide her smile, "but yes, I do enjoy science just as much as the Beilschmidt brothers."

The woman whom Francis had painted a while ago was smiling at him with the same expression as when he saw her for the first time. Her crimson lips were curled into a mischievous smile, and her eyes glittered with happiness.

"Um... if you enjoy science so much... why don't you work in the lab here?" Matthew asked.

"Charlie is more useful in the field because of her acting skills," Amy said with a grin, her cat-like eyes focused on Matthew, who looked like he wanted to sink through the ground. His attention returned to Charlotte when she suddenly got up and yelled at him with tears in her eyes, "You insensitive jerk! How could you do something like that to me – I loved you, you know!"

Matthew's face turned as red as Charlotte's lipstick and his eyes widened, "I-I'm sorry!"

Charlotte's expression softened and she laughed, "Just kidding, Matthew. Sorry for frightening you like that. I just wanted to give you a taste of my capabilities. I'm quite proud of my skill, you know."

Without him even noticing, a smile had been playing on Francis' lips the entire time. He actually thought it was fun to hang out with Charlotte and Amy. They were so different from all other women he had met before (except for his mother, of course).

"Say, Francis, you're not checking Charlie out, are you?" Amy suddenly commented. Francis then realized he had been idly staring at Charlotte the entire time, who laughed and grinned, "It can be our little secret," she winked, "don't tell Arthur – he might get jealous."

* * *

There was the sound of a gunshot.

A silence fell over the building, and everyone stopped moving. It was as if time had frozen, and would remain frozen for eternity.

"...where did that come from?" Francis whispered, as if he was afraid to break the deafening silence.

Slowly the sound returned, and time continued its flow, but there was panic. Ludwig was the first to storm up the spiral stairs, quickly followed by Alfred and Arthur. A scream of despair echoing from the attic sent a chill down Francis' spine. He and Matthew hastily ran up the staircases, and entered the dark and dusty attic. Alfred had turned his back to the scene, his shoulders hanging low, his hand clasped over his mouth, and he was staring at the floor in defeat. Arthur was standing in a similar fashion, but kept his posture nevertheless. His eyes were closed and he was quietly muttering a string of swear words that would put any sailor to shame.

That brought Francis' gaze to Ludwig, whose back was facing the Frenchman. He was kneeling down, holding a silver-haired man in his arms. Francis stared at the scene as Ludwig continued sobbing.

What was going on?

Without really thinking, Francis stepped forward and looked over Ludwig's shoulder. All he saw was Gilbert's limp body lying in his younger brother's arms. His pale skin had turned as white as his hair, his eyes that once sparkled with mischief were now lifeless and blankly staring at the ceiling, his lips were slightly parted, and a small stream of blood went down from the corner of his mouth to his chin. The crimson mark on the side of his head was evidence that he had taken his own life. The gun was still in his pale hands.

Francis felt so cold.

It had been a week since Gilbert was buried.

Only when Ludwig went through all of Gilbert's stuff, he found a small piece of paper with hastily scribbled text. The messy handwriting was recognized by everyone as Gilbert's.

_What have I done? _

_Heavens please forgive me for my sins_

_I'm so sorry_

_I'm so sorry_

_I'm so sorry_

Francis felt his heart ache every time he read the note again. It wasn't fair – Gilbert was a good guy, and he, of all people, least deserved to die this way: in confusion, sorrow, guilt for something he hadn't done, and with his life taken by himself.

* * *

"I fucked up," Alfred said with his hands in his hair. His handsome face was a mess, and his voice was hoarse, "I never should have suggested testing the drug. I should have kept a closer eye on Gilbert too – fuck!"

Ludwig hadn't uttered a single word since the burial. Nobody could blame him, but anyone looking at him felt great pity for the man. His once-proud posture had faltered, his stern gaze had turned into a grim expression, and the Awesome Science Cave lay abandoned.

Only after a long silence, Alfred spoke again, "...listen, Ludwig, I know Gilbert's death is mostly my fault – and I'm really sorry. I can... I can understand if you want to quit."

In that last moment, Francis saw Arthur's gaze rest on Alfred – but not in a friendly way. When the Englishman's forest green eyes crossed with the Frenchman's sky blue ones, Francis could immediately decipher the message Arthur was trying to send Francis.

_Suspicious._

Francis absent-mindedly bit his bottom lip. He agreed.

A voice he hadn't heard in ages pulled him out of his thoughts, "I will not leave. I will stay here, and put an end to Alpha for once and for all – that is what Gilbert would have wanted me to do."

Despite the grim memory of Gilbert's passing, the depressing mood, and almost all the trust in the entire organisation shattering, Francis managed to smile because of Ludwig's determination.

* * *

"Suspicious," Charlotte sighed, uncrossing and crossing her legs once again, "_everything_ is suspicious. Gods, I don't know who to trust any more. Maybe I just let a couple of Alpha's assassins into my house or something. Are you guys assassins?"

"Alpha has assassins?" Matthew asked with a terrified voice.

"She's just rambling, don't mind her," Arthur said, shaking his head, "focus, Charlotte. Listen to what we have to say."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows with half-lidded eyes and an overall disinterested expression, "So be it."

"Alfred has been... acting suspiciously," Arthur told the black-haired woman.

Francis expected some sort of interruption from Amy, perhaps along the lines of "You don't say", but she was nowhere to be seen. On one hand it relieved him, on the other hand... it made for extra worry. Amy _was_ one of the initial suspects he had in mind after all.

Arthur, Francis, and Matthew had discussed Alfred's behaviour in private, and decided to continue discussing it with Charlotte. Now they were in Charlotte's hotel room, in which she was staying as long as she was in Paris. It was evident that the colour red was Charlotte's favourite colour, for it was literally everywhere. The carpet, the furniture, the curtains, the pillows, the candles... Charlotte could easily lie on the floor in her red dress and remain unnoticed.

"I keep hearing the word 'suspicious' over and over again," Charlotte said with a groan, "will you please be more detailed? And what exactly does 'suspicious' mean in this case? Is he like, wearing a grey trench coat and sneaking around in alleys?"

Arthur shot Charlotte an annoyed expression. Francis wondered what their relationship was. The Englishman continued, "It's in his overall behaviour, but mostly in the little things he does. Like the things he says – his choice of words, for example."

"Arthur you pay too much attention to things like that," Charlotte said and smirked, "or maybe you do that just because it's Alfred?"

"_Charlotte_," Arthur hissed, trying his best to do it unnoticed (he failed, of course), "How can you say such things and _smile_?"

"But Arthur is right," Francis said, trying to recall anything useful, "It is mostly the little things that we're used to Alfred doing that are suspicious. Like who he sends to go into the field, the wall full of maps and other things in his office, and – like Arthur said – the words he chooses to use..."

"See, told you," Arthur said to Charlotte, gesturing at the Frenchman.

"I don't know... I think you're being paranoid..." Charlotte said, inspecting her nails, "you can start keeping a closer eye on him, of course... but that would mean entirely breaking the trust between you. If you were wrong, a close bond will be lost permanently," she glanced at Arthur, "Are you sure you want to risk that?"

* * *

The dust was really getting to Francis. He tried his best not to sneeze, because he was afraid making any sound would cause the factory to collapse or something like that. As he shone his torchlight in front of his feet, silently walking further into the abandoned building, he wondered how Gilbert felt while walking the same path. Exploring the abandoned factory where Gilbert had gone to before the incident mainly consisted of carefully walking up and down creaking stairs, avoiding stepping on the glass of broken windows, and pacing through run-down hallways with the constant feeling of being watched. Walking through one of the hallways made Francis think about the nightmare he had with the tunnel and the eyes. A shiver went down his spine and he tried to ignore the creeping sensation, but it was easier said than done. Finally he found a door which was – for some reason – half-open. He sneaked inside, and found that it was an office. There were papers scattered over the desk and the floor, but everything had a layer of dust over it. Did Gilbert miss this room?

After rummaging through a few drawers and accidentally tipping over a stack of books, a small piece of text caught Francis' eye. It was the same handwriting as the one in the letter addressed to – presumably – Alfred. It was just a fragment of a piece of paper. Apparently it was torn off from a larger piece, and the only part that could clearly be read said:

_-the gases from the factories have turned the rain-_

_-burns/bites all cells but only cells and not-_

_-excellent-_

Francis' hands were violently shaking. He looked from the scrap of paper to the scars on his hands. The last word on the small piece of paper echoed through his mind.

_Excellent_.

"_Ce n'est pas _'excellent'!" Francis screamed in despair. Did the person that had written this even know how much it hurt to be bitten by the rain? How many times he had simply wished that he could die so that he would never have to experience the burning sensation on his skin again? Francis was still trembling, but this time with anger. If Alfred was truly the one behind all this, he was most certainly going to give him a piece of his mind... and he would – like any other artist – use his hands (fists) to convey the message.

However, today was probably not going to be the day that Francis would finally get his sweet revenge. With punching Alfred as the last thought on his mind, his eyes closed and he collapsed onto the office's floor, lying on a bed of loose papers.

* * *

A moan escaped Francis' lips – his head hurt. The moan quickly turned into a groan as his hands shot to his head just to grab it. It _hurt_.

"_Mon dieu_," Francis hissed, "that hurts..."

"Hey dude, you're awake! I found you in that-"

Recognizing the American accent, Francis' eyes widened and he turned to look at the speaker. Upon meeting cerulean eyes similar to his own, he said through gritted teeth, "You... you traitor!"

Alfred's eyes widened, and he blinked, "W-What? Me?"

"Yes, _you_! Don't try to pretend!" Francis said, standing up and remembering his resolve to punch Alfred's face, "What is your _problem_?! Are you crazy?! Do you have any idea how much the rain has affected me – and millions of others?! _Mon dieu_, you were the one that knocked me out in the factory, weren't you?! I should have known all along..."

Alfred held up his hands in defence, saying, "No, Francis, please listen to me, you have to trust me!"

Francis scoffed, walking up to Alfred and hissing, "_Trust_ you? After how secretive you've been doing? How can you possibly have the guts to ask something like this? You _repulse_ me. That's it – I'm out."

Francis turned around to leave Alfred's office, but stopped when he heard something click.

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave," Alfred mumbled, "not before you hear me out."

"A gun? Well, that confirms it," Francis snorted without even bothering to turn around.

"Listen Francis – I am in no way affiliated with Alpha!" Alfred said, there was a hint of despair in his voice, "You _have _to believe me! I know I've been secretive and stuff, but I also didn't know who to trust any more! In fact, I think-"

Somebody knocked on the door and it opened immediately afterwards. Arthur was standing in the doorway with his usual uninterested expression, "Francis, Matthew is looking for you. Sorry, did I interrupt something important?"

"_Non, mon ami_," Francis said without even bothering to look at Alfred, "In fact, I was just about to leave."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Hey, sorry for not updating for so long! I was - in fact - in France for the holidays!

This is the second last chapter *le gasp*

Everything will finally come to a conclusion in the next chapter... and maybe I'll write an epilogue, we'll see ^_^

This chapter was shorter than the other ones, I know, but there were reasons for that :3

Ciao!

Chryssie


	6. A Grey Sky

The whole incident with Alfred had been constantly bothering Francis for the past few days. They hadn't spoken to each other since, and they pretty much acted as if the other didn't exist. The Frenchman wasn't sure who to talk to about the incident, his trust in almost everyone had vanished.

Almost.

"Francis? Hello?" a soft voice called, and Francis' vision sharpened.

"What? Oh, _je suis désolé, mon ami_," Francis said and gave Matthew a small smile.

"Listen, I've been doing some research of my own – the research that Arthur or Alfred usually do," his normal voice was soft, but he was speaking in an almost inaudible whisper now, "and I found a few things... that were a bit unsettling."

Francis tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but with no avail. He had this terrible gut feeling about what Matthew was going to tell him.

"Alpha is producing covetine for many reasons," Matthew said softly and held up his index finger, "first of all, it helps them earn lots of money – which is quite obvious," he added his middle finger, "second of all, they can easily influence the people that are addicted to the drug, so it gives them more political influence," he added his ring finger, "and thirdly, I think... I think the lethal rain is because of the factory gases-"

"Yes – they are!" Francis tried to exclaim but keep his voice controlled at the same time, "I read something like that on a scrap of paper I found in the abandoned factory where Gilbert went!"

Realizing that he had just interrupted his friend, Francis quickly apologized, but Matthew waved it off, "It's okay – I'm glad you were able to confirm my theory," he said, "but... that would also mean that Alpha is turning the rain like that on purpose. I think... I think by combining the use of covetine and the rain, they've got... they've got all of Paris wrapped around their little finger. The covetine almost... brainwashes everyone that takes it, and... and the rain..."

There was a silence.

"The rain kills off anyone that can't afford the drug."

_Excellent_.

Francis felt sick – he thought about the scrap of paper again, about the incident with Alfred, and about the strong desire to punch said man in the face. He clenched and unclenched his fists, itching to break something – _anything_ – but preferably a _certain_ American's jaw.

"...I think Alfred is affiliated with Alpha," Francis finally said, "actually – I know for sure."

Matthew's eyes, which had previously been staring off into space, darted back to Francis. He softly spoke, "...I suppose you do have proof? We can't just accuse him without solid proof."

"Don't tell me you're siding him now," Francis spat with anger and disgust written over his face. Simply speaking about that blue-eyed devil made his stomach flip.

Seeing the hurt in Matthew's violet eyes broke Francis' heart a little. With a sorrowful expression the artist quickly said, "...I'm sorry Matthew, I just - … I'm sorry."

Matthew shook his head dismissively and sighed, "It's okay. Just tell me the reason why you think he's affiliated with Alpha, okay?"

Francis then told Matthew every single detail about his exploration in the abandoned factory. Reliving the experience made him rather uncomfortable, but it had to be done. After having told him the entire story, from going to the factory to the incident with Alfred, he waited for Matthew's response. The Canadian looked like he was still trying to process what he had just heard.

"Y-you may be right," Matthew said, bringing his thumb to his lips and biting it softly in thought, "we... we know nothing about Alfred, really. I know he was with Arthur and all – but... We need to talk to Arthur and Ludwig about this."

"Alfred should be out right now – I'll go look for Arthur, you go get Ludwig," Francis said, getting up, "meet in the base- ...Awesome Science Cave."

Matthew nodded and Francis dashed out of the room, running down the spiral staircase as quickly as he could. He ran through the living room, and pushed open the door leading to either Arthur or Alfred's office. He rapidly knocked on the door to Arthur's office and immediately pushed it open. Sure, it was very rude, but there was no time to waste now.

Francis was very surprised when there was no angry Englishman to greet him, but an eerie silence. He slowly scanned the room, taking in every detail. It was as tidy as always, and nothing was out of place. Without making a sound he stepped to the desk and glanced over a few of the things lying on there. Two stacks of paperwork, a various array of ink pots and quills (Arthur obviously preferred doing things the old-fashioned way), yesterday's newspaper, and a vaguely familiar envelope. Without even thinking, Francis picked it up. It wasn't addressed to anyone. He ran his thumb over the paper, trying to figure out where he had seen this before. When he flipped it around, his heart started beating rapidly and he felt like he was going to pass out.

There, the envelope was sealed with red wax and a capital "A".

Francis placed on hand on the desk to support his weight. He felt like he could collapse any moment now. His dishevelled blond hair loosely framed his pale face, and the hand holding the envelope was shaking violently. When he calmed down just a little bit, he opened the envelope. The seal had already been broken. He slipped out the letter and immediately recognized the handwriting.

_A, _

_how many times have I told you? Staying there any longer is going to be too dangerous. I know it will look suspicious if you suddenly quit, but we can always fake your death or something. You're one of our most valuable members, and we can't afford to lose you. Please stop avoiding_

"It's rude to read other people's letters, you know."

Francis quickly turned to where the voice had come from. Arthur was standing in the doorway with crossed arms, casually leaning against the frame. His green eyes held an emotion Francis couldn't read.

"...y-you're... you... you were _A..._ ...all along," Francis said with a shaky voice.

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock," Arthur said sarcastically and stepped forward, uncrossing his arms and reaching into his coat. He pulled out a gun, cocked it, and pointed it at Francis, "now do me a favour and die."

"W-wait- please, tell me why you did this!" Francis pleaded, holding up his hands.

"Do I look like a storybook villain that explains themselves before they kill the main character?" Arthur scoffed, his finger tightening around the trigger, "fare-"

The sound of somebody else cocking a gun was heard, and both Francis and Arthur froze on the spot. The person spoke, clearly out of breath, "If you won't-" he gasped for air "-then I will explain what has been going on all this time."

Arthur chuckled and lowered his gun before turning to face Alfred. The American's hair was even messier than usual, and – oh heavens – he was covered with blood splatters.

"Your assassins are hard to put down," Alfred said as he slowly regained his breath.

"I know, I'm quite proud of them, really," Arthur said casually, but he was still holding his gun. Francis had – once again – _no_ idea what was going on.

Alfred walked further into the room and kicked the door close behind him, gun still aimed at Arthur. He said, "All that time I was chasing the leader of Alpha. To think the man I was chasing and the man helping me were the same all along."

"Alpha and Omega are two sides of the same coin, Alfred," Arthur said, his forest green eyes following the American's every move, "and you knew all along too."

Alfred bit his bottom lip and frowned. How his arm wasn't tired yet from holding up the gun all that time was beyond Francis.

Arthur sighed deeply, "I actually quite admired your work, you know."

"FRANCIS!"

* * *

Francis' shoulder hurt like a bitch.

It had been, well, a week or so since... many things had happened.

After having found Arthur out, said man had shot Francis – but too hastily. Francis was shot in his shoulder. After Arthur had done so, Alfred hadn't really thought when he pulled the trigger. Alfred's aim had always been one of the best, and it also didn't disappoint this time. However, it was clear that he regretted doing so when he knelt down next to Arthur and started crying. Through his sobs and hiccups Alfred had said, "I... all this time, man... all those clues – I... I knew... but I thought... I thought I was just imagining... them... I wanted to believe that – that I was just..." he wiped away his tears with his sleeve before slamming his hand onto the wooden floor and yelling, "I trusted you, dammit! You were like a brother to me, Arthur! I loved you! Why did you do this?"

Arthur gave Alfred a soft smile as he slowly closed his eyes. The blood on his white shirt looked like a rose that was slowly opening up and blooming. In that moment Francis could've sworn he saw Arthur's lips move and whisper an apology.

Ludwig had taken Arthur's body for examinations. In the meantime, they had to tell Charlotte and Amy the horrible news. It was heartbreaking to see Charlotte walk inside with a big smile and say, "Where's Arthur?"

When Alfred had finally told her, she had broken down in hysterical sobs, covering her face with her hands. She wasn't wearing gloves this time, and Francis noticed the silver engagement ring she was wearing. Amy had hugged Charlotte's crying form, and quietly cried with her out of pity and empathy for her friend. The sight tore Francis' heart in two.

Shortly after that Ludwig had walked into the living room and told them the horrifying news.

He had found traces of covetine in Arthur's blood.

* * *

The artist absent-mindedly twirled the pencil between his fingers. He wanted to draw something, but he had no idea what. It was one of those days, that he simply wasn't satisfied with everything he had drawn. He sighed and sunk further into the chair, closing the sketchbook on his lap. Alpha and Omega were both gone. Really, all this time, the one couldn't exist without the other. It was probably for the better that neither existed now. It had taken a while, but the world was finally at peace again. The production of covetine had completely shut down, law and order had been restored, and former covetine users had finally come to their senses.

It almost was a perfect fairytale ending. Francis sighed and undid the ribbon that held his hair together, and ran his hand through his golden locks. He missed Gilbert. He had been the one that had helped him open up more, and find his old self again. Despite everything that had happened, he also missed Arthur. Without him, he never would have had this adventure, and never would have found the people that he now called his family.

"Good morning, Francis," a familiar voice said. He looked up. Charlotte had just walked inside, wearing a forest green dress instead of the usual red ones.

Francis greeted her and put away his art materials before getting up. He and Charlotte were going to visit Gilbert and Arthur's graves today.

They were buried next to each other. Charlotte put down a bouquet of red roses on both graves. Then they just stood there in silence. Before Arthur had died, Francis would come here occasionally and simply talk to Gilbert about, well, everything. It felt strange at first, but it was actually quite calming after a while.

"...Arthur always told me that green suited me better than red," Charlotte said with a small smile and smoothed out her dress, "I never really believed him, to be honest."

Francis looked over at Charlotte. Green _did_ suit her more, actually. They started talking quietly like this, reminiscing about their times with their lost lover and friends.

"Ah, it's raining," Charlotte said, holding out a gloved hand.

Francis looked at the grey sky as small droplets of water made contact with his skin.

* * *

**Author's Note**

It's finished! (Or is it?)

I'm so sorry that I killed of Gilbert and Arthur *sobs*

Please don't get mad at me because I made Arthur and Charlotte lovers... I just really ship UK/SG (Hehe yeah, Charlotte is my Singapore OC)

Anyway, I'd stay tuned if I were you...

Ciao!

ChryssieVissie


	7. Kiss

"Oh Charlie, I'm so sorry," Amy cooed softly, caressing her friend's hair.

"I should have seen it coming, really," Charlotte mumbled as she looked at the picture in her hands. All sorts of emotions were jumbled up inside her right now. She sighed, "If he had just taken my advice..."

"Well, he was stubborn, you know that best of all," Amy said with a sad smile.

Charlotte put the picture back onto the desk, her eyes lingered on it longingly, "I know. One of the many things I loved about him," she shook her head in regret, "I took him for granted. I never should have let him get involved. We could have easily found somebody else, but... Oh, look at me, Amy. I even had to use the drug on him in order to keep him on my side. Gosh, I was a terrible fiancée, wasn't I?"

Amy's cat-like eyes shifted back to Charlotte, trying to figure out how her friend was feeling. The brown-eyed woman was still looking at the picture. Finally Amy softly asked, "Charlie, do you ever wonder if we're crazy?"

Charlotte broke her gaze from the picture, got up, and smoothed out the green dress she was wearing. Just before leaving the study, she smiled and said, "I don't wonder, Amy. I know."

The corner's of Amy's mouth curled up into a grin. She got up, following her friend to whatever mischief she was going to be up to.

On the desk, between the many letters, stacks of paper, and curiosities stood the picture which Charlotte had been looking at with so much desire and longing. The picture showed Arthur with a red face, and wide-eyed expression, and her grinning as she kissed his cheek.

* * *

**Author's Note**

This is it, then! It's _finally_ over!

Before you all start hating Charlotte and Amy, remember: _"A villain is just a victim whose story hasn't been told."_

...but I'll leave their story for another time :)

I reaaaally enjoyed writing this, and I hope you reaaally enjoyed reading this! ^7^

Thank you _so_ much for reading if you stuck with me to the very end!

Don't forget to leave a review - I'm always curious to know what you think, even though the story had been completed!

Thank you so much once again, and I hope this isn't the last time you read one of my stories!

Ciao!

ChryssieVissie


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